


The Reasons

by bellatemple



Series: But Deadly [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Dean Winchester, Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-14
Updated: 2008-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the events at the Roadhouse, Mary and the boys head to Bobby's to recover, regroup, and possibly reconnect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> The stuff I'd made up for Mary has now, of course, been thoroughly Jossed, but I tried to bring in a bit of the detail from canon while still holding on to what I've already established. I hope you enjoy.

Dean was giving Mary's car an oil change.

She sat at the window in what must have once been a beautiful living room, watching him circle the sedan, wiping his hands on a rag, tools and supplies dug up from the work shed set haphazardly on a nearby bench, all tumbled up with each other in a way that would have once made John curse and threaten people's jobs, back at the old shop. They'd been at Bobby's for three days, now, at Ellen's for two before that, and though Dean moved as easily as he had the first time she'd seen him in the Roadhouse, Mary's own joints were still stiff and complaining from being tossed around by the demon in the parking lot.

She wondered idly at that youth and strength, trying to remember when she had recovered so quickly, before age and hard living had started to wear at her bones.

"Maggie." She turned her head from the window to quirk her lips up at Bobby. He stood over her, one hand in the pocket of his ragged down vest, the other holding out a slightly dingy white coffee cup.

"I hope that's Irish."

Bobby snorted. "Given you enough of my whiskey, woman."

"There's not enough whiskey in the world, old man." She smiled again, for real, this time, and turned her head back towards the window. All she could see of Dean now where his legs, one bent at the knee, the other outstretched and tapping along with a radio she couldn't hear -- his upper body was beneath her car, doing whatever strange rituals were needed to make it run a little smoother.

"You could try talkin' to 'em, you know."

She turned back from the window, years of practice making hiding the slight pang of guilt that rose up from her belly as easy as breathing. "What?"

Bobby tilted his head forward, and she guessed he probably had just as much practice reading hidden emotions as she had hiding them.

Still, she kept up the pretense, lifting one shoulder as though she'd just happened to sit down at the window while the son she hadn't seen in over two decades was working just outside. The stack of books that made up her precarious seat shifted slightly, and she felt her ears heat up, probably turning a nice pink beneath the mask of her short, loose curls.

Bobby snorted. "Should've guessed it sooner. You Winchesters are all the same."

Mary gave him a cross look as she finally accepted the coffee. "I'll have you know I'm still a Harrison." She turned her head back towards the window. "But you're probably right."

That "probably" hurt. She had no idea how right or wrong Bobby might be about her boys. The man she knew more by reputation than by any sort of friendship knew more about her sons than she did. Had known her oldest son for much longer than she probably ever would, if the yellow-eyed man was back in business. "I used to picture them, you know. Would stop by Lawrence when I got the chance, catch a few short glimpses, whatever I could get without being noticed. I tried to imagine them all grown up, but it was hard. In my head they always looked like they did that night." She laughed softly to herself, resting her forehead against the glass. "When the six foot four year old in plaid pajamas got a little too weird, I pictured Dean looking just like John."

"Does he?"

Mary startled, pulling away from the window and spilling a bit of the coffee -- fortunately not that hot -- across her lap. She hadn't heard Sam come in. Hadn't heard him swap places with Bobby, that sneaky old rat bastard. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You've been avoiding us." The look he gave her was blank, an improvement on the anger and confusion of the first few hours after the demon's attack, but she missed the grin he'd worn, after the careful truce they'd come to in Ellen's back room. It'd been too much to expect it to last. "Which is a nice trick, considering you and I have barely left the house."

Mary opened her mouth to deny it, but stopped herself short. Sam deserved better than that from her. If she was going to be able to work with him to stop the yellow-eyed man, she'd have to start relearning how to use the truth. "I'm sorry."

Sam shrugged, as though the apology didn't mean anything, but she caught the subtle settling of his shoulders as he studied the view through the window. "Does Dean look like Dad?" he asked. "Like you expected?"

"No." His shoulders went up again, and she hurried on. "Not like I expected, Sam. Neither of you do, that's why I didn't --" She broke off and took a sip from her coffee. She didn't like thinking about how she'd betrayed her boys when they first found her, much less saying it out loud. "You're so much more. Handsome. Like. Like men."

"Twenty two years will do that."

She winced, consciously letting her face follow her gut. "You both look like him. Dean, more so. You actually take more after my father."

Sam's brows went up and he rocked backwards slightly, a small smile opening up his expression. "Really."

"His name was Samuel, too, you know."

The smile faded. "No. I didn't know that." He cleared his throat, looking down at his feet, then back up, his expression blandly pleasant. "Was Dean Dad's dad?"

"Deanna. My mom."

He barked a laugh and the full grin exploded across his face for a moment, and Mary couldn't help but return it. She could do this. There was no making up for the lost twenty-two years, but she could sit here and talk to Sam, reconnect a little. She tilted her head towards the window. "His first word was 'car'."

Sam chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me. Mine was, uh." He blushed. "Sandwich."

It was Mary's turn to laugh, though something like pain started to curl in her stomach. She'd missed Sam's first words. His first steps, his first t-ball game. All those things she and John had so carefully documented about Dean weren't hers to remember about Sam. "Sandwich?"

"Well, more like 'samch'. But I was pointing to a sandwhich. At least, that's what Dan told me."

"Dan." Mary shifted on the stack of books, leaning forward a little. "And Carrie. I never asked, how are --" She stopped when she saw his expression fell, felt a flash of pain that buried itself in her chest and closed down her face. "How?"

"Car crash. Just about a month ago."

Mary closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer. "The demon?"

"We think so."

She nodded, dropping her head forward as her mind kicked into high gear, shuffling this new information in with all the rest she'd collected over the years, matching it up in ways she hadn't dared to contemplate.

The demon had told them, back at Cold Oak, that he only intended for one of his "kids" to survive. One to lead his army from Hell into the world. She and Dan had both made it out.

Now it was only her.

For a quarter century she'd let herself believe that the demon's plans for her were finished. Now she wanted to kick herself for ever believing it could be that easy.

"You should talk to Dean," Sam was saying, having no idea which way her thoughts were going. "He deserves that much."

She shook her head, keeping it bent. "I can't."

"I could translate --"

"No, Sam." She looked up at him, then, wishing she could send her thoughts to him, open her mouth and _make_ him drop the subject. But she was years out of practice, her attempts to order the demon around at Ellen's had proved that. "What would I say to him?"

"'I'm sorry' might be a good start."

She felt the hunter settle over and around her like a cocoon, closing off the inexperienced mother. "I'm not."

She could actually _see_ the fury light up in his eyes. "You made him mute."

"And if it kept the two of you safe for even a moment, then I have nothing to regret. I explained this to him, to both of you, back at the Roadhouse."

"Did you?" Sam straightened his shoulders, his hair falling back slightly from his forehead, and she was suddenly aware of just how _tall_ her baby boy had grown. How big. "Because I still don't get it. You're our _mother._ He was injured and scared and you _ordered_ him not to speak. Do you know what that did to him? The therapy. The drugs they used because they thought he was in shock. Special schools and being turned away from friends because he was different. Damaged. The _freak_. His teachers thought he was an idiot, his coaches put him on squads to look 'progressive'. He's had to work three times as hard his entire life just to get the things that you or I could get with a few simple words. Explain _that_. Tell me how that made us safer. Tell _him_ how that was what you wanted."

Mary shook her head. "You don't understand --"

"I understand perfectly. You're scared. You screwed up, and now you don't want to admit it." Sam stepped back, hand flung out towards the door, and lowered his chin. "Talk. To. Him."

It hit Mary like a hard-flung pillow, shoving into her lower back and her legs, forceful but somehow muted. Her muscles flexed and she found herself standing against her will.

Was this what she'd done to other people? How it had felt to Dean that night on the lawn?

How the hell had Sam inherited this power?

She fought against it but felt her feet move anyway. So she redirected it, using the momentum of Sam's words to bring her in front of him, only inches away. She stared up at him, feeling an echoing fury that matched his harden her jaw and narrow her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I screwed up. I thought the demon was after me, and I thought that if Dean never told anyone what he saw that night, you two could stay hidden. But I was wrong, Samuel. My power's fading. Yours is just starting to grow."

Sam swallowed, eyes darting to the side, but he didn't fall back. When he opened his mouth, the strange force that underwrote his words was gone, and he just sounded tired and sad. "Talk to him."

She studied him for several more moments, picturing in her mind's eye the happy baby she'd put to bed that night, so many years ago. He was still there, hidden beneath years of growth and months of resentment. She nodded.

"Fine."

She turned to pick up her coffee, wanting to steel herself for the confrontation she felt was about to occur. For the anger -- or worse, silent understanding -- from her oldest son. She looked up out the window for one last unobserved glimpse of him, paralleling the man she'd loved despite every instinct she'd had not to let anyone too close -- and froze.

She dropped the coffee cup and headed for the door at a dead run, hearing Sam's lumbering steps at her heels and Bobby's lighter ones not far behind. She burst into the yard, stopping just short of the growing puddle of motor oil swamping the wheels of her car, taking in the scattered tools and the discarded rag. She turned, catching Sam's wide-eyed stare and the movement of Bobby's hand reaching for a gun or a flask or both, but not a single sign of the one she was looking for.

She turned back, then to the others again, then to the house, to the road, not wanting to accept the dread creeping up her throat.

"Dean?" Sam called, stepping up next to her. "Dean!"

Bobby dropped into a crouch near the rear of her car, his finger swiping along the ground, then waving past his nose. Though she knew what he'd found, Mary couldn't hold back a flinch when he spoke. "Sulfur." He straightened, pulling his hat from his head, and looked around. "They've got him."

Sam took two steps forward, then stopped, and when he opened his mouth again, Mary joined him.

"DEAN!"


End file.
